Ours
by TheYmp
Summary: Gadreel's possession of Sam might make him a better angel, but it has an aftereffect that no one could have expected. Set during an alternate version of season nine. Sam/Gadreel, Dean/Castiel, MPreg. Written for the 2015 'SPNReverseBigbang' challenge on LiveJournal. Thanks to Sastmk for the artwork/prompt!
**Disclaimer: I don't own** ** _Supernatural_** **or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.**

 **Gadreel's possession of Sam might make him a better angel, but it has an aftereffect that no one could have expected. Set during an alternate version of season nine. Sam/Gadreel, Dean/Castiel, MPreg.**

 **Written for the 2015 'SPNReverseBigbang' challenge on LiveJournal. Thanks to Sastmk for the artwork/prompt!**

~#~

 **Ours**

 ** _"There were giants on the earth in those days; and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men and they bore children to them, the same became mighty men who were of old, men of renown" - Genesis 6:4 (KJ21)_**

~#~

Sam stumbled into the bunker's lounge area, wincing as he caught his hipbone on the door as he passed. He rubbed at the paper-thin skin and what was sure to be another dramatically impressive flower of a bruise. With his other hand he pulled the blanket tighter around himself; it was a scratchy old thing but it smelled like the Impala and Dean, meaning it smelled like comfort and home.

He pulled a book at random from one of the many shelves and settled down on the couch, but was too distracted to read.

The room had that faded fifties-glory look so similar to the countless motels in which he'd spent his youth, but it still wasn't home.

 _But it could be._

Sam jolted awake at the alien thought, becoming aware that he'd been slipping into slumber. _Typical_. He was so tired from the Trials, of the daily grind of this hell that was his life, but it seemed he still couldn't even let go for the brief respite of sleep. His gaze idled around the room, taking in the faded opulence of the Men of Letters base. Everything that he had done, all the mistakes and the pain that he had brought. _How could this be fair?_ he wondered.

 _Your intentions were pure and well meant, so no matter how bad the outcome, you still deserve to be loved._

Sam felt something stir within him, but while it seemed his newly talkative conscience didn't seem to think he was to blame for all that had gone sour in his life, he wasn't sure it was a position he quite agreed with.

 _Oh great, and now I'm arguing with myself_ , he thought, succumbing to his tiredness.

As he yawned, he realized that at some point he'd changed seats without noticing. He wondered if, and where, he was next likely to awake.

~#~

Dean checked for the all-too-familiar flash of blue-white light behind Sam's eyes.

"Save her," he begged. He honestly didn't know if he was begging or telling. He forced himself to look at Charlie's body, her limbs bent and twisted in unnatural positions from the blast from the witch.

'Family don't end with blood," had been Bobby's frequent refrain, but it was a lie. In Dean's experience, those he considered family, all too often ended in a pool of blood.

"Save her, Ezekiel. _Please_." The name of the angel was ground out through unwilling lips. The sight of his brother, his face normally so expressive, twisted into this impassive _thing_ , was a million times worse than the fate of his friend. Charlie's death was tragic, but Sam... well, that was betrayal. He'd seen his brother possessed before, and every time it was worse than the previous one.

"I cannot keep doing this, Dean," warned the angel.

As so often seemed the case these days, Dean found himself edging back in the face of the hidden stranger that inhabited his brother. Dean reflected on the fact that while he might consider Ezekiel to be one of the good guys for helping to heal Sam, there was a definite shady vibe that Dean would be a poor hunter if he ignored.

"Please," he repeated, this time laying on the coy vulnerability a little thick. He didn't miss how the ancient patriarch seemed to puff up slightly, an almost-human sign of emotion in an otherwise stoic being. _I guess we all need to be needed_ , thought Dean, knowing that it was certainly true about himself.

"Very well," replied the angel, "but you must take greater care when summoning me. I can sense that Sam grows ever suspicious and it is surely only a short time until he realizes our arrangement."

Dean nodded.

"I wouldn't wish to jeopardize Sam's recovery," added Sam's possessor with a meaningful look.

In that moment Dean, even while filled with joy at Charlie's resurrection, decided he hated the angel that was saving his brother's life.

~#~

The time between one blink and another was all that was needed to bring Sam, the _real_ Sam, back.

If Sam made another, deliberate, blink to cover his confusion and hide from the shocking look of hate in Dean's eyes then he wasn't admitting it to himself, let alone anyone else.

"I forgot what I came in here for," he muttered, not even sure where he had been moments before. ( _Was it moments?_ he wondered, glancing at his watch.)

He didn't need to be an expert in his brother to recognize the all-too-deliberate lack of eye contact or the brusque manner in which Dean asked him for help in getting an unsteady Charlie back to her feet. It was the all too recognizable symptoms of guilt.

The question was really _if_ his self-martyring wreck of a brother had _actually_ done something for which he _deserved_ to feel guilty.

~#~

For too long to remember, Sam's sleep had been nothing more than broken fragments with not-brief-enough amorphous flashes of pain and terror.

This time was different; instead of the usual hurtling plunge into horror, Sam could feel himself floating on a warm gentle breeze. It was a wonderful sensation, like being swaddled in cotton wool and rocked to within an inch of sleep.

After a time the motion passed and he opened his eyes to find himself in a verdant, flowering garden of mighty trees and delicate blooms. A glance upward revealed that the sky was obscured by a huge manmade dome and something like recognition tickled at his mind, but his thinking felt slow as if he were wading through treacle.

The light grew brighter and brighter still until there was hardly a shadow left and the intensity was such that Sam had no choice but to screw up his eyes.

Something passed across his mind, some whisper below his conscious hearing, that promised he was safe.

Keeping his head down, he blinked cautiously once the light was no longer visible through his eyelids.

A tall, well-built man in non-descript clothing stood nearby, his entire focus seemingly on Sam. As strange as it was to be the subject of such scrutiny, Sam found it difficult to take in the specifics of the man's appearance as if his mind had trouble holding on to the sight of him.

"Don't I know you from somewhere?" asked Sam, even though he was sure he didn't.

 _Yes, you do_ , whispered a traitorous voice in the back of his mind. It might not sound like Lucifer, but prudent habit meant he still paid it no attention.

"Let me show you around," the man smiled, his face visible, but unclear, in that way that so often happens in dreams.

There was a sense of relaxed walking as time and surroundings seemed to blur around them, until Sam found himself before a small, stunted sapling.

"It looks dead," observed Sam.

"No, there is a small spark of life if you look deep enough." The man sounded very certain.

"Will it grow again?" Sam asked, unsure why he felt so invested in the flora.

"Given time and attention. It's _very_ resilient."

Sam tried to tamp down the flush of pride that the words brought. Such words in the past were too often followed by the harsh sting of criticism and he found himself bracing for their impact, but they never came.

"Until next time."

The words rang in Sam's ears even as he rubbed his eyes awake.

~#~

"I've been dreaming again," Sam volunteered, apropos of nothing, as he all but dived into the plate of eggs placed before him by his brother.

There was a hasty, cut-off choking sound as Dean sank into the chair opposite and banged his mug of coffee down on the table with more force than was warranted.

"You're having visions?" gasped Dean.

Sam rolled his eyes. "No, I just mean... I'm sleeping really well now and... _dreaming_ ," he concluded weakly, waving his fork around for dramatic emphasis. He wondered at how little that word conveyed the vivid reality of his nightly nocturnal imaginings, or how important they had become to him.

"Oh." Dean frowned, reached for his coffee, raising it to his lips only to put it back down again, untasted. "What're you dreaming about?"

Despite his efforts, Sam could feel the relentless march of heat as it traveled up his neck and spread across his cheeks to reach the tips of his ears.

"Nothing," he blurted, shoveling an extra-large forkful of egg into his mouth, wincing as he burned his tongue.

 _Long walks in the Garden_ , whispered a forgotten memory. _Long, slow walks,_ it added, growing daring.

Uncomfortable, Sam shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. "I don't remember," he said at last, in a decisive tone, ignoring the faint look of amusement and disbelief on his brother's face.

But his mind wasn't having any of it. _And then it's like being filled to the brim with a healing light... so warm and bright and glorious_ , it chattered.

Sam tried to suppress a shiver while manfully ignoring Dean's smirk.

"I noticed you were back on laundry duty," Dean said, the arched eyebrow totally unnecessary in Sam's opinion.

"Why do you have to cheapen _everything_ ," Sam sighed, although really he knew it was his own fault for raising the subject in the first instance.

"Natural ability, plus it's my prerogative as the oldest to embarrass you."

"You're only embarrassing yourself, _jerk_ ," retorted Sam.

Dean laughed, with an all-too-rare look of sheer pleasure on his face. " _Bitch!_ You really are feeling better!"

Sam stopped in surprise, his mind choosing that moment to throw up an unbidden memory of strolling through a large open area and talking at length with a tall, solidly-built man who seemed _so_ familiar.

 _But isn't everyone we see in our dreams supposed to be made up from people we've seen in real life?_ Sam pondered as he equally considered that he would have remembered this fellow, as, at the very last moment the guy turned to speak to him: _"Are you well?"_

The intense, near-overpowering, daydream faded as Sam accepted his brother's offer of another serving of eggs. "Yeah, I guess I really am."

~#~

For a while Dean had felt like he had been living on borrowed time with a crushing sense of waiting for the other shoe to drop. He had already lost so much in his life but it always seemed that there was scope to lose a bit more.

He'd been almost superstitiously afraid to admit when Sam's health had finally seemed to turn the corner, but it still felt like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Now Castiel had appeared before him, returned from whatever battle it was that he was fighting, and he was at last able to breath.

They stood awkwardly on opposite sides of Sam-Dean honestly had no idea what his brother was researching that could possibly require that much focused attention-and nodded in greeting.

"Hello, Dean," said Castiel. Dean wondered how the angel managed to make even a simple greeting feel like a pronouncement of great import.

"So, you came back then," retorted Dean, not sure why he felt so irritated. He rubbed absently at the deep ache in his chest. It felt like he hadn't taken a decent lungful of air in months.

"I have," added Castiel redundantly, half-raising his arms at his side. "I needed somewhere to rest and recuperate before the next skirmish." He paused, with an awkward, mortified look on his face. "I hope that is all right."

Dean tried to suppress the look of hurt that flashed across his face. "Of course," he replied in a stiff voice. "You're _family_. You shouldn't have to even ask."

Castiel merely nodded in his formal, so-serious way, but it was enough to further ease the new tightness in Dean's chest.

He was distracted from his easy, extended eye-contact with the angel by an eventual, uncomfortable awareness of being the subject of Sam's intent gaze.

"Enjoying the show, Sammy?" he asked, not sparing the sarcasm.

Sam continued his thousand yard stare, instead of the usual witty retort, or embarrassed ducked head, that Dean would normally expect of his brother.

"Sammy, you okay?" Dean prompted, his mind already racing at the odd behavior.

"Yes. I was merely thinking," replied Sam, his eyes glittering oddly in the silver-blue light of his laptop.

Dean let out a relieved breath. _Heaven save us from younger brothers_ , he thought idly as he turned his attention back to Castiel and busied himself with getting his best friend settled back in the bunker.

~#~

Sam tossed and turned in his sleep. He could sense the tentative hand placed on his brow, but he was too agitated to derive any comfort from it.

 _Sometimes you've just gotta face your issues and work through them_ , he explained, as he sank deeper into the dreamed replay of the day's events.

Sam had always hated hunts underground, as much for the impracticality of his height than any real feelings of claustrophobia, but the cramped dimensions of the dream version of the creature's lair were exaggeratedly restricted.

He knew he was the only one here, hell; he'd begged and wheedled using every trick he knew to force Dean into not only letting him on the hunt, but also getting the job of flushing out the beast.

 _There's nothing quite like being alone, twenty feet underground, and with the packed-earth of some kind of burrow collapsing down around you, to make you question your life choices._

He had managed to get himself turned around, but the main passage he'd used had already collapsed, even if he could remember how to get back to it.

He hesitated at the sight of a narrow passage that didn't look safe, but something made him crawl through it anyway.

He'd just finished clawing his way up to the surface when he heard and felt the whole thing come crashing down behind him.

"Maybe that was a bit soon," said a scratched and bloodied Dean, rushing over and pulling Sam to his feet.

"I needed to get back into doing something with the rest of my life, and I guess hunting's all we have," sighed Sam.

"I was talking about me," said Dean, his eyes wide and their color standing out in his too-pale complexion.

Sam looked away and, in the strange manner of dreams, was back in the passageway, only this time there was a large, square-jawed man holding up the ceiling, like Atlas supporting the weight of the world for him on his shoulders.

"I will _always_ support you," said the man, as Sam once more found himself crawling to the surface.

When Sam woke those words still echoed in his ears as if they had been spoken aloud in the room.

Unsettled, he padded through the long, empty corridors of the bunker, until the faint, muffled sounds of someone talking gave direction to his aimless wandering.

"Hello, Sam," said Castiel from his seated position on the sofa. The angel didn't look up, his face illuminated by the cold glare of the television that held his rapt attention.

Sam smirked as he noticed that while Dean sat on the farthest side of the couch, at some point his brother had slumped in sleep so that his head rested at an odd angle on Castiel's shoulder.

"What're you watching?"

Castiel frowned. "I'm not certain of its function. However, I have been informed several times that it can be mine for four easy payments of $39.95."

Sam laughed aloud in delight, but forced himself to guilty silence as Dean shifted and muttered in his sleep.

Castiel's attention was immediately transferred to Dean, where, Sam suspected, it had been prior to his arrival. They were like two orbiting planets, he decided, trapped in each other's gravity that held them together, ever circling, but never seeming to get any closer.

He wondered if that was his fault. _Perhaps I'm the third wheel?_ He had no one of his own; even Charlie was more Dean's friend than his.

"You should take him to bed," he said, startling Castiel who gave him a quizzical look in return. Sam blushed furiously as he belatedly realized how his words sounded. "I mean, he looks really uncomfortable."

If Sam needed a reminder that Castiel wasn't human, then watching the effortless way his brother was scooped up was more than sufficient.

Undaunted by his burden, Castiel paused and gave Sam a troubled look as if either seeing deep into his soul or considering imparting some great wisdom, only to shake his head in order to clear it of such nonsense. "Goodnight, Sam," he offered.

Settling himself on the vacated sofa and flicking listlessly through endless dreary TV channels, Sam couldn't help but feel the slight burn of jealousy and loneliness as he watched them leave.

~#~

The next day was full of frantic arrangements and last-minute goodbyes after Castiel made the announcement at breakfast that he was going back into battle.

"What's going on, I mean, what's there to arrange?" whispered Sam to his brother while they both watched the angel make several tense phone calls.

"Apparently, he's been able to recruit some big name, big hitter or something, _I think_ ," Dean muttered back, with a vague guilty look as he dodged eye-contact. He made a big production of straining to follow the one-sided conversation over the noise of Sam's questioning.

Despite his brother's obvious irritation, Sam couldn't resist probing further. "You think? Why, are you not sure?" he asked. He knew Dean well enough to recognize from the twitchy tells that his brother was withholding something.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Cas insists it's best we don't know." He pulled a face. "I hate it when he pulls rank like that."

Sam was equal measures surprised and distracted by the admission and wasn't sure what to say. "I guess he just wants to protect you," he offered.

Dean stared up to the heavens and released a long drawn-out breath. "I'm not used to it and I don't like it. _I'm_ the one that protects others! Not him!"

Sam felt a little... _empty_ , he supposed, in a way that he hadn't for a while. "Sometime we have to accept help, if we want to or not," he said feebly, feeling an odd, unusually strong sense of resonance with the sentiment.

Dean returned a strange look, but gave him an affectionate slap on the shoulder before turning back to watch Castiel again.

~#~

Sam stared into the pantry in the vain hope that checking again would somehow make it miraculously fill up with food.

He guessed he'd just have to bite the bullet and head for the grocery store, or explain to Dean how he'd managed to get through a week's food in just a couple of days.

He marveled that Dean actually appeared to enjoy the shopping the process, although his brother would deny it at length, often pottering around for ages to compare and choose food items. Sam was too impatient to fuss over what he considered to be just fuel. He'd have been happy to always leave the groceries to Dean; if only his brother could be trusted not to _always_ choose the high salt/high fat alternative.

Sam groaned aloud as even the thought of some of Dean's more dubious cookery experiments made his stomach clench in sympathy.

"You all right there, Sammy?"

Sam had barely had a chance to reply in the affirmative before he realized: _No, I'm really not all right_.

Running at full tilt, he just made it to the bathroom in time before the dry heaves became something more. Wiping his mouth, he became aware of his concerned brother hovering over his shoulder.

"It must've been something I ate," said Sam.

Dean looked thoughtful. "I don't know, you've looked a little green the last couple of days. Maybe you're coming down with something?"

"Maybe," replied Sam, with a shrug. "I have felt pretty tired recently," he admitted, following his brother back to the kitchen. "I feel fine now though," Sam added, before he paused and turned back to the bathroom.

"I thought you said you were fine?" accused Dean, looking agitated.

 _Again,_ thought Sam. _He's such a nursemaid! Can't he stop fussing over me for a minute? He's been unbearable since Cas left._

"I am. I just need to use the bathroom," Sam said aloud, rolling his eyes.

Seeming relieved, Dean chuckled. "Your bladder's the size of a small girl's, _Samantha!_ "

It cost him a Herculean effort, but Sam decided not to dignify his brother's comment with a response, it only encouraged the jerk. _I mean, I'm not the one named after our grandmother. No wonder he's so sensitive._

Sam sighed as he took care of business. Not that he wasn't aware of feeling overly emotional recently. Even if, sickness aside, he had never felt better physically. _Maybe it was some sort of delayed reaction to surviving the trials?_

Reaching down to adjust his clothing he ran a hand over the smooth, gentle bulge of his abdomen. Despite the strange sense of comfort it brought, he still frowned at his midriff with a slight feeling of loss, and wondered where his abs had gone.

Dean was certainly no slouch physically, admitted Sam, but with the steady diet of beer and cheeseburgers ( _Huh, 'diet'_ , chuckled Sam, silently) his brother by comparison had always had a less defined torso.

 _All I need is the 'shrinks'_ , he thought sarcastically, remembering a make-believe malady from a favorite childhood book. _And probably just one more nasty blow to the head and I won't have anything over Dean_ , he contemplated mournfully.

 _Won't he just love that? Like he needs something else to tease me about?_

~#~

Sam turned around from the sink to reach for a towel only to find his brother practically standing on his heels. Dean seemed to always be within arm's reach these days. Intellectually, Sam supposed he should feel grateful for such an attentive older brother but the reality was that it made him feel claustrophobic.

"Back up, Dean. C'mon, personal space, dude."

Dean scowled and handed Sam the towel. With a grudging nod, Sam accepted it and dried his face, making a deliberate point to not give his brother eye-contact.

Sam made to leave, unable to get to the door as Dean stretched out an arm and blocked his exit.

"Are we gonna talk about this?"

Sam couldn't resist a slight lip curl at the irony of those words from Dean- _of all people_ -the master of stoic, repressed emotion.

"I told you before, I'm-"

Dean made a frustrated noise. "I swear, if you tell me 'you're fine' one more time I'll kick your ass."

Sam leaned his face into his brother's. "I'm. Fine."

Dean made another growl and turned away, back into Sam's room. "No, you're not! For a while I really thought you were better, but... anyone can see that you're not, not the way you're sick every day. When was the last time you even ate?"

Sam shrugged. "Last night. It's only breakfast I've been skipping, but you know I've always been more of a night owl."

Dean, looking visibly like someone had taken the wind out of his sails, gave a grudging nod of agreement, but couldn't resist a small dig. "Yeah, I don't think it really counts if you stay up studying instead of going out partying."

Sam crossed his arms and waited.

"Okay, but we're gonna get you checked out."

"Dean, I can't! How many doctors would understand the Trials, let alone how we'd explain the sigils on my ribs if they try to x-ray me."

"I know a guy," said Dean, making a dismissive gesture as if it was no big thing.

"You know a guy," replied Sam in a deadpan voice, making no doubt as to his skepticism. "What, from some bar?"

"No, Doctor Robert; he's an old friend of Dad's."

"Oh, I remember him, the _quack_. And why did his lose his medical license, again?"

"Sammy, the whole point of going to see someone like him is _not_ asking lots of questions!"

~#~

"So, how are things? What brings you here?" asked Doctor Robert, opening the door and beckoning Dean through to the grimy, run-down examining room-cum-office.

"You got my call? You sure you're okay to see my brother?" asked Dean, suddenly anxious for what might be revealed.

"Day or night, I'll be here any time at all," said Doctor Robert breezily. "You remember my assistant, Eva?" he added, motioning to the severe-looking, goth-styled woman wiping down the examining table.

Dean's instinctive, usually-female-charming grin wilted under the scathing glance he got in response. "Oh yeah, how could I forget," he added dryly.

The doctor's face lit up with interest and recognition as Sam followed his brother into the room. "Oh, I see _someone's_ been busy," he leered.

Sam's surprise was evident from his facial expression. "You can tell what's wrong with me?"

"Nephilim pregnancies are not exactly an everyday occurrence, but they happen more often that you'd think," the doctor smiled with an avuncular tone.

" _What_?" cried both brothers in tandem.

"Nephilim. Pregnancy," repeated the doctor slowly and clearly as if speaking to a child as he started to make detailed notes on a legal pad. Dean was discomforted to notice that the jottings looked more like sigils on an astrological chart than medical notes.

Sam just stared, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. He started to sway and the doctor motioned for his assistant to bring a chair, which Sam sank into as if pole-axed.

"And you can tell this just by looking?" asked Dean incredulously, once he'd confirmed his brother was unharmed.

The doctor looked up from his note taking and frowned, tapping his pen against his chin, as he considered a suitable answer. "You know how they say a pregnant woman glows?"

"Yeah," nodded Dean, wondering where this was going.

"Well, in this case it's literally true!" Doctor Robert beamed, seemingly delighted with his explanation.

"What?" repeated Sam, not sure if he was either dreaming or that his brain had somehow gone offline.

"You're vibrating on certain higher-level wavelengths; it's _very_ distinctive," said the doctor, making it sound as if 'distracting' would have been a better choice of word. He held Sam's head with both hands while peering closer into the man's face as if trying to literally peer down through his eyes and into his being.

"Ooh, from the discoloration to the aura it looks like _someone_ 's already had some soul work done. Expunging unpardonable sins, were you?"

"No," denied Sam, hotly.

Doctor Robert and Eva shared a meaningful look. "Just as well, that procedure doesn't really work anyway," sighed the doctor, wistfully.

Dean cast a curious glance at the 'doctor'; he'd always had a suspicion that the man wasn't entirely legit, but he'd never considered that he might not even be human. His hand wandered of its own accord down to the knife on his belt and it was only Sam's sudden grip on his wrist and scolding glare that brought him back to his senses.

"How did this happen?" demanded Sam, turning his attention back to the doctor, his chest feeling so tight it was like he was fighting for breath.

The doctor chuckled. "Well, when a human and an angel love each very much..." His amused laughter was cut off by a warning glance from Dean.

"Ahem. Right. So, you _have_ been a vessel, which _massively_ increase the chances. Prepares the vessel so to speak." He coughed nervously on noticing the sudden intent scrutiny from the brothers. "I hear things... you know how hunters like to gossip," he mumbled, defensively.

"Oh my God... _Lucifer_ ," breathed Sam, horrified. "No, wait... that doesn't make sense..."

The doctor shrugged. "That's a shame, perhaps you could have put in a good word for me?" He cleared his throat to change the subject.

"But I'm a guy," said Sam, pushing Dean's arm in retaliation of a sarcastically raised eyebrow.

The doctor waved the complaint aside. "And an angel is neither male nor female, so what does that matter? Put in dough, apply heat, and you get a bun; doesn't matter what kind of oven you've got."

Sam was still trying to fit his mind around what was surely the worst simile ever, when he had a sudden, horrifying epiphany. "You mean _Dad and Michael_ could've...?" He and Dean traded a freaked glance.

"I always wondered if there was another half-brother running about out there," muttered Dean.

" _Focus_ , Dean," retorted Sam, he knew his brother used humor to deal with stress, but seriously there was a time and a place. His warning seemed to do the trick, but it was as if a mask fell away from Dean's face and Sam was discomforted by the stark expression that remained.

"Okay," said Dean, rubbing his hand together in a nervous tic as he faced up towards the doctor. "You can... _get rid_ of this thing, though. Right?"

"Dean!" cried Sam in alarm. His brother was so child-centric that Dean's suggested solution was somehow more shocking in being out of character than the thought of being pregnant.

"Right?" repeated Dean, speaking louder over Sam's objections.

The doctor nodded. "It'll need surgical intervention, but at this early stage there's only a small risk to the... _parent_."

"Hey! Don't I get a say?" demanded Sam, pushing himself up to stand between Dean and the doctor.

Dean shook his head with a weary sigh. "Why do you always have to be so goddamn contrary? You've got some kinda _thing_ growing inside you; let's just get it cut out and move on!"

Sam looked down at his belly and the body that no longer felt quite like it was his own. "So it's like a parasite?" he asked in a small voice. He closed his eyes to try to stem the overwhelming feeling of betrayal so strong that it physically pained him. "Or some type of cancer you get from being possessed?"

"Oh goodness me, no," said the doctor. "I was only being a little facetious earlier-" he frowned at his assistant's snort from across the room. "- while it might not be a physical act in the traditional sense, it's still a child conceived in an act of love. _Literally_ , not figuratively."

"Love?" blinked Sam.

"It's fascinating really, although poorly understood," said the doctor, warming to the subject, "but it's essentially caused by a prolonged period of metaphysical bonding-usually during a heightened state of consciousness-that leads to a joining of essences."

"Sounds like quite the one-night stand," said Dean quietly. Sam kicked him in the shins, but not _too_ hard, he'd noticed how his brother's demeanor had softened.

"So it's really a child... _my_ child," whispered Sam, more to himself than the others in the room.

"Well, if you really want to know, how about you boys let me do a proper examination?" interrupted Doctor Robert.

Sam nodded agreement, even though he suspected the concern in the doctor's voice was motivated by the fear of not being paid for a proper consultation.

Sam's mind whirled and he was still too shocked to do more than docilely acquiesce to the indignity of each of the doctor's numerous prods and pokes.

"No more coffee for you, and you definitely need to drink more water," sniffed the doctor, taking the latest proffered sample from Sam and idly holding it up to the light.

"So," said Doctor Roberts, his voice cutting across Dean's sniggers which were abruptly silenced. "You were hosting an angel until quite recently, but not possessed?"

"Huh? No," replied Sam, looking between the doctor and his brother in confusion. His stomach sank at the look of extreme guilt that spread across Dean's face.

"Did you get Cas to do something to me?" Sam hissed, waving an accusatory finger. He felt instant relief at the naked expression of outrage that twisted Dean's features.

"What? _No!_ How could you even..? _He_ would _never_ do something like that!" Dean cried, his voice growing increasingly shrill.

 _He_ , thought Sam. _He_. The word was like a clanging chime of doom echoing inside his head. For such a great hustler and pool shark, Dean sure was lousy at hiding his guilt.

"Tell me _everything_. _Now_ ," Sam ordered through gritted teeth.

~#~

"I can't believe it," wailed Sam, thankful for the fresh air after the stuffy claustrophobia of the doctor's office.

"I know. I never would have brought you here if I'd realized the doctor was so shady and ... well _whatever_ he is," replied Dean, patting a consoling hand on Sam's shoulder.

Sam pushed Dean's arm away "No, I meant about you lying to me!"

"Oh, excuse me for only trying to save your life!" Dean exploded, his hands flying up in the air, all the while studiously avoiding any eye contact.

"And now look at me!" screeched Sam, feeling as if he was holding onto his sanity by only the very tips of his fingers.

"Yeah, Sam. Sorry that your baby daddy's a _lifer_. He was only s'posed to fix you up, not knock you up," Dean mocked, his voice dripping with sarcasm, but at least finally looking at Sam.

Sam glared at Dean in jaw-dropped, absolute outrage before they both exploded into laughter.

"Seriously, dude. Not cool," said Sam, shaking his head.

"Are we okay?" asked Dean.

The punch came without any hint of warning.

Dean held up one hand in apology, as he tried not to touch his throbbing nose while stemming the tide of blood and snot.

Shaking out the pain in his hand, Sam looked at Dean with haunted eyes. "Honestly, I'm half expecting to wake up from the strangest dream ever. You're my brother and I love you, but if you _ever_ do anything like this to me again, I swear, I'll kill you."

Dean decided that it was probably a good idea to never mention the whole 'Ezekiel' identity deception thing.

~#~

It was a few days later that found Sam lying, dozing, on the sofa, half-watching some low-budget action movie on Netflix that he'd already forgotten the title of, when he heard the distinctive sound of fluttering angel's wings followed by a loud crash from the adjoining room.

He arrived in the library at around the same time as his brother to find Castiel had collided with the table, having knocked books and dishes to the floor, and was struggling to support a tall man, whose face was obscured by a thick layer of dried blood and dirt.

"Cas," Dean cried and rushed to help his friend while Sam held back in the doorway, feeling unaccountably awkward.

"Hello, Dean," said Castiel in his gravel-like voice that sounded infinitely more weary than usual. Sam only then realized the angel was also injured.

But it was the motionless stranger, arm draped over Castiel's shoulders, who drew Sam's attention. Something about the man seemed so familiar, Sam unaccountably felt as if he'd been reunited with a lifelong friend. And though he couldn't be sure it wasn't just his imagination, he could sense a slight shifting, lifting sensation from deep within his own body as if something was straining to draw him nearer to the unconscious man.

It was all very distracting, but not enough that Sam didn't detect the stiffening in his brother's body language as Dean also appeared to respond, albeit quite differently, to the stranger's presence.

"He is badly injured, "explained Castiel. "Apologies for the lack of prior warning but I'm exhausted and I had hoped we could _both_ rest here."

Sam might have been mistaken, but Castiel seemed also to be somewhat surprised by Dean's negative reaction. In the spirit of increasing strangeness, Dean then turned to _him_ with an agonized look on his face as if asking for Sam's permission.

 _Huh, when did this become a democracy?_ Sam wondered, but dismissed it for a mystery to be solved at a more appropriate time.

"Of course Cas, let's get him in the spare room," answered Sam.

"Thank you, Sam", said Castiel looked too wiped out to do anything but sag gratefully. He paused. "You look... very well," the angel added, frowning slightly as he squinted in an effort to take in a closer examination.

"But still healing. Here, I'll deal with your friend," interrupted Dean. "You go rest," he said to Sam more quietly, but with no confusion as to it being order. With an unreadable, warning glare, Dean shifted the burden of the man from Castiel's shoulder to his own.

The stranger's head lolled to one side and was illuminated by dim lighting in the room, giving Sam his first proper look. The recognition was immediate.

"I know him," Sam gasped, as his mind threw up an unbidden slew of images as he recalled all of the many months'-worth of dreams he'd had of the two them together.

"Gadreel?" queried Castiel, with a confused, surprised expression.

Dean caught Sam's eye and gave a minute shake of his head.

Sam mentally catalogued the unusual name-he was sure it was familiar but couldn't place it-but decided that now wasn't the time to delve into the gruesome details and so just shook his head. He was unsurprised when an obviously exhausted Castiel let it go and instead focused helping Dean carry the man- _No... angel_.

Sam made himself useful by holding the door open, but the whole time he kept his eyes trained on 'Gadreel' until the trio disappeared out of sight down the corridor.

~#~

Dean was back in just less than an hour and he was in full hand-wringing mode.

"So, they both settled in?" asked Sam.

"Thanks for this," said Dean, the contrition in his voice having the unintended consequence of just pissing Sam off.

"He's my friend too, you know. Cas shouldn't have to suffer for something that _you_ did."

Dean rubbed his palm across the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, still... thanks."

Sam sighed. "Does he know?"

Dean closed his eyes and shook his head. "No, not yet. The guy's running on willpower alone; he's barely standing. Are you okay with him knowing... everything?"

Sam swallowed, he knew it was silly, but he couldn't face the prospect of explaining the whole situation to Castiel's uncomprehending thousand yard stare.

"You tell him," said Sam, taking a malicious glee in the slight wince in his brother's face as he'd probably just had the same thought. "It can be your penance," Sam smirked, knowing that he'd just sealed Dean's fate. His brother was too much the martyr to try to get out of giving anything less than a proper-unflattering-account of his actions now.

"So, that was Gadreel, huh?" Sam mussed in a soft voice, not noticing the half-smirk, half-worried look the comment earned him from his brother.

~#~

Castiel hobbled to Gadreel's room, pushed open the door and rested against the jamb while gathering his strength. Given Dean's revelations, he was unsurprised to discover that Sam had already claimed the uncomfortable hardback chair beside the bed.

 _Ascetics all, those Men of Letters,_ considered Castiel. _As if a padded seat would have made them less worthy of their knowledge! Dean always complains he can't study because it's a pain in his ass; perhaps there is literal truth there? Maybe, if only for the sake of some cushioning, those Men of Letters might still be alive now?_

"How is he doing?" Castiel asked gently, though he still startled Sam from the depths of his own thoughts.

Sam blinked owlishly, sitting himself further upright in the ugly chair and gathered the blanket he had draped across his shoulders tighter around himself. Castiel was struck by the strong image of a very large, mostly likely quite fierce, bird that circumstances had found threatened, yet unable to leave its nest.

Sam laid a hand on Gadreel's forehead and considered a moment. "He seems much better; I think his fever's broken. Dean helped patch up the physical injuries, so hopefully he should wake soon."

Castiel was interested to notice that Sam hadn't removed his hand. "And how are you?" he added.

Now Sam moved that hand; he wrapped both arms around to cradle his noticeably larger belly. "Dean told you?"

Castiel nodded, distraught at how small and vulnerable this giant of a man sounded.

"It's... much to take in, I'm sure," said Castiel, "But I'm certain that any child, no matter it's provenance, would be blessed to have you as its parent." He noticed that Sam had started to smile during the course of his attempt at encouragement and so hoped that the words had had the intended effect; it was so difficult to tell with the Winchesters and their odd non-literal ways.

"Thanks, Cas. It means a lot to hear you say that."

They waited in companionable silence for a time while Castiel used a little of his remaining Grace to assess Gadreel's wellbeing. He made a small noise of surprised pleasure at what he found.

Sam looked up in alarm. "I'm sorry, Cas, I'm so self-involved in my own drama that I never asked how _you_ are."

"I'll be fine," said Castiel. "Nothing that rest won't cure. No, I was just surprised, _pleasantly surprised,_ to see that Gadreel seems to be making a remarkable recovery, especially given the extent of his wounds." Castiel's eyes twinkled. "Perhaps _you_ are his cushion."

"You're weird - and I say that as a pregnant dude knocked up by the angel who was squatting inside him," Sam chuckled, before his eyes took on a mournful look and he asked: "How did he get to be so badly hurt?"

Castiel gave pause, wondering how much he should say and what the reaction might be. _How might Dean react?_

In the end he decided to risk it, for Sam's sake, but also because he knew the pain of making the wrongest of all decisions for all the right reasons; even if, in this specific case, Dean did seem to have somehow managed to be vindicated by the outcome.

"Gadreel is one of the oldest of us; he's weakened but at full strength he makes a most fearsome foe. He fights with such passion and vigor; his sense of purpose; it's like nothing anything of us have since our Father departed..." Castiel paused, his eyes and voice softening as he focused back on Sam. "I've only just come to understand his motivation."

"So... you're winning?" asked Sam, realizing that he and Dean had never bothered to ask about the details of civil war in Heaven, but not catching Castiel's meaning.

"It's been hard fought, but we're gradually inching back their forces. Despite our injuries, we won this battle... barely, but we've still not won the war."

"Do you really think you can?"

Castiel sighed. "The main fight is for hearts and minds, but every day brings new recruits to our cause. Gadreel has a somewhat chequered past, but it represents a new beginning and forgiving the mistakes of the past. I really feel that we're turning the tide in our favor on this."

Sam nodded. "I sensed he was important," he said in little more than a whisper so faint that Castiel had to strain to hear.

" _I_ sense you are important to him too," said Castiel, but Sam's forced smile proved it wasn't believed.

~#~

Gadreel's senses swam and for a dreadful moment he was convinced he had been forced back into the cramped confines of his cell in heaven. His wings flailed in heedless panic and though they felt torn and heavy the immediate feeling of space the range of movement brought was enough to rouse him from his nightmare.

Scanning the unfamiliar surroundings he tried to sit up, but in reality he could only temporarily lift his head. He groaned as he fell back to hit the pillow.

" _Gadreel?_ How... how are you feeling?"

The voice made Gadreel snap his eyes open. His vessel went through a number of interesting, if alarming, physical changes as he recognized the origin of the voice.

"S-Sam?" he gasped, his throat and lips unbearably parched. His tongue felt clumsy and too-large for his mouth.

"I'll go get Cas."

"Wait," croaked Gadreel urgently, but it was too late. The man had already departed.

 _He remembers me,_ thought Gadreel in a heady mix of pleasure and anxiety. With little choice to do anything else, he lay in place and could only hope for Sam's return.

~#~

Castiel stood guard over his injured comrade, split with indecision. He knew what Gadreel meant to his cause, but wondered what the cost would be to his relationship with the Winchesters.

Gadreel moved as if sensing the turbulence of Castiel's thoughts.

"S-Sam?"

"No, it is Castiel."

The visibly resigned shoulder sag and expression of disappointment was enough to make Castiel want to offer some immediate consolation. "Sam has been beside your bed for most of the day. It was important that he should rest. I'm sure he will return in time."

Gadreel relaxed back into the bed and smiled. "A rare soul indeed, that human, one to be cherished."

"So why do what you did?" asked Castiel.

Gadreel frowned. "When his brother summoned me, Sam had mere _hours_ of life remaining. He'd already decided to die, given his mental state there was no way he could have been dissuaded of his decision."

 _He doesn't know_ , realized Castiel. _What a mess_. It wasn't his place to be the bearer of such news; that prerogative ought to be Sam's.

After some consideration, Castiel decided there was one piece of advice he should offer. "I've known the Winchester for some time now."

Gadreel nodded.

"In that time, I've come to realize-at great personal cost-that there is one thing they prize above all else. _Free will._ You would be wise to remember that."

"I would _never_ hurt Sam," Gadreel objected. "He is everything to me. When I'm with him it's like... I'm home." His eyes widened as he realized the truth of his words and the depth of his feelings. "He's my _Heaven_ , Castiel."

Castiel was pleased for his brother, and comforted on Sam's behalf, but he had a strong intuition that if Dean was here that the man would be rolling his eyes most vigorously.

~#~

"Castiel said you wanted to see me," said Sam, having already taken his usual spot in the seat beside the bed.

Gadreel smiled at the edge of defiance in the man's voice. _What a magnificent creature he is!_ He couldn't resist an attempt to tease Sam further to provoke a reaction. "Indeed, but did you not want to see me also?"

Sam made a disgruntled noise. "Yes," he agreed, drawing out the word into a reluctant drawl. "I don't know why, considering what you did to me."

Gadreel considered his words carefully, mindful of Castiel's advice, before he spoke.

"We have a connection, a soul-bond that is beyond the usual."

"You angels and your 'profound bonds'," said Sam mockingly, even miming the quotation marks.

Gadreel didn't need to be an ancient celestial being to catch the likely target of that mimicry. "Is what I did so different to Castiel?" he asked.

Sam returned a questioning look.

Gadreel chuckled. "Every angel receives orders; it's just not often they feel the need to announce their successful completion to every higher being in Creation."

Sam chuckled, despite himself. "Dean was in Hell, my situation is hardly comparable."

"You were in a mental hell, and I pulled you out," Gadreel responded mildly. He laughed at Sam's skeptical look, wincing when it triggered a mild coughing fit. "It was a longer process, I accept. I was not in the best of condition myself."

"You don't look much better now."

Gadreel smiled. "I feel better knowing you are here." His grin widened when Sam had no ready response.

They sat in companionable silence until Gadreel slipped into sleep once more.

~#~

"How're those bandages holding up?" Sam asked, setting a heavy, food-laden tray to one side. He cursed quietly under his breath as he sloped some of the hot contents of a bowl over his hand.

"I don't need physical sustenance," chided Gadreel, although it was clear he reveled in the attention.

"I know," said Sam, sucking the spilt liquid from his fingers. "But _I_ do, and besides, it's noodle soup. Dean makes it for me whenever I'm ill, and it always makes me feel better."

For the first time in days, Gadreel was able to sit himself up-and without assistance-so he could try the soup.

"It's good," he assured Sam. "Did you make this yourself?"

"Yes. Well, I heated it from the can," admitted Sam, his cheeks flushing pink. "Do you really like it?"

"It pleases me greatly," answered Gadreel, in a low, intense tone.

Sam's stomach swooped, and he swallowed past a throat now thick, as his face burned brighter.

Gadreel blinked and looked concerned. "Sam, are you... _injured?_ "

Sam instinctively wrapped his arms around himself and hunched slightly over his distended belly.

Made more concerned by the lack of an answer, Gadreel looked closer. What he saw made him drag himself from his bed while his face twisted in horror.

"How could I have not _seen_ before," he whispered.

"It's fine, it's fine," muttered Sam, backing away from the bed, only to collide with the bedside table, sending the tray with the rest of the plates and glasses crashing to the floor.

"Oh, by our Father, what have I done?" wailed Gadreel, in anguish.

It was the door's turn to crash as Dean and Castiel came running in, disheveled, red-faced and breathless from their exertions.

"What's going on?" demanded Dean, instinctively scanning the room for any sign of threat.

"What have I done?" repeated Gadreel.

"It's fine," repeated Sam, feeling violated from the unwanted attention.

"Abomination! _Abomination!_ " cried Gadreel as tears poured down his bloodless face. He seemed to compose himself, only to turn horrified eyes to Castiel. "How can you ever forgive me? I only wanted to help, but if this gets out, they'll turn against us. They'll _all_ turn against us." he said, his voice cracking.

He turned those eyes on Sam. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he whispered. Then he disappeared.

Sam stumbled to his knees, more distraught than he could ever remember being.

~#~

"How is he doing?" asked Castiel.

Dean scowled, crossing his arms while shifting from side-to-side in barely concealed anger. "Why don't you ask him yourself?" he growled, only to immediately duck his head, abashed in the face of Castiel's mild, but reproving look.

"Sorry," he muttered, under his breath. "It's good to have you back, I've missed you."

Castiel nodded, but his focus was taken with Sam. In the weeks he'd been away the pregnancy had obviously continued at a heady pace; Sam was huge. But it was Sam's face that drew his main attention; the dark smudges under hollow eyes a testament to a severe lack of sleep.

"The morning sickness is over, thank God," said Dean, quietly. "But he's been a mess since 'Daddy Douchebag' flew the coup. I've _never_ seen him like this."

"I can hear you, you know," yelled Sam from across the room.

"Hello, Sam," said Castiel, with an odd formality, even for his stoic nature, which gained him a concerned, quizzical look from Dean.

"I see _Gadreel's_ not with you," replied Sam, venomously spitting out the name of the angel.

Castiel looked down as if finding something noteworthy about his shoes. "You have to remember," he said gently, still averting his gaze. "Gadreel is from an earlier, less enlightened time. Things were more... _straightforward_ then. Humanity hadn't fallen, so you were little more than child-like ornaments. It's easy to forget that, given how today you're so complex, you're all so very..." he gazed at Dean while searching for the right word. "... compelling."

Sam snorted. "Did he send you to apologize for him?"

Castiel shook his head. "Thanks to a united angelic alliance, the war for Heaven is almost won, although Metatron still eludes us."

"Someone really ought to gank that little twerp," sneered Dean.

Castiel sighed. "It's not through lack of trying. Gadreel threw himself into the fighting like a mad thing. He was instrumental in driving Metatron back."

Sam's eyes widened and his heart lurched in his chest at Castiel's unspoken meaning.

"I'm very sorry to have to tell you this, but I'm afraid Gadreel fell in battle," said Castiel.

~#~

Sam stomped into the library. "I'm having them again," he announced loudly.

Dean rolled his eyes and took a discrete sip of his coffee, before hiding it out of sight; it just didn't seem fair to drink it where Sam could see it. Especially since he'd been the one to implement the strict caffeine restrictions on his brother's diet. "And good morning to you too, Francis," he muttered. "Having what, again?" he asked more loudly, hoping that it wasn't going to be labor pains. _I'm so not equipped to deal with Sam's_ anything _, dilated or not._

"The dreams," cried Sam, as if that should have been obvious and that Dean was dense for even asking.

"You're saying he's alive?" said Dean, glad to see an end to Sam's grieving, but not entirely sure if this was a positive outcome, even if true.

" _Yes!_ At first they were just snatches of images and impressions too brief to make any sense; I thought they were just wishful thinking." He paused and scowled at Dean quizzically raised eyebrow. "But now I'm certain that he's trying to tell me where he is."

"Of course," sneered Dean. "The winged douchebags never have trouble letting us know when they want something."

"Even Cas?" Sam taunted, knowing it was a low blow.

"Cas is different, leave him out of this," grumbled Dean.

"I can't just leave him there. I can't!" Sam cried.

"Fine," relented Dean, he'd never been able to say 'no' to his brother at the best of times, but having Sam so visibly pregnant was seriously messing with his sense of chivalry, not to mention his mind. "But you're staying here," he ordered.

"Yeah," snorted Sam, the sarcasm so thick it could have been cut with a knife. "No fucking way."

"Sam, you're _pregnant_ ," Dean objected, shocked despite himself at Sam's fervor.

"Like you weren't already on at me to get rid of it. I can't leave him there, Dean. No more than I could leave _you_."

"Why? What's going on with you two? Are you even gay?" demanded Dean.

"No!" Sam denied before even considering the question. "I don't know," he admitted. "Does it matter? Maybe? Why, are you?"

If Dean realized that he was blushing, he didn't admit to it. He shrugged. "Of course it doesn't matter. I always assumed it was on the cards, what with you going to college and all."

Sam scowled; he wasn't going to rise to Dean's obvious bullshit. "I'm going," he insisted.

Dean sighed. He had a bad feeling about this.

~#~

Metatron eyed his newest captive with undisguised disgust, like a petulant child studying a bug under a microscope. "Look! It's the blood freak. I was just saying the other day, how no one had seen the _abomination_ for a while," he sneered. His eyes widened at Sam's state. "Oh? Passing that baton to a new generation, are we? I didn't realize it was a _pregnant_ pause." He looked pleased at his own cleverness, only to roll his eyes when no one laughed at his joke.

He drew a sword and advanced on Sam, quickly overpowering him. "I don't normally like to get my hands dirty, but I'll happily make an exception for you."

Sam felt a twisting pain and an intense heat deep in his belly, and an unseen force pulled the sword from Metatron's hands. Sam grabbed it by the hilt and with one fluid motion, forced it into the renegade angel.

"How?" choked Metatron.

"There are giants on the earth again," panted Sam, his vision almost whiting out due to the pain.

"Huh?" muttered Metatron.

"They weren't called 'giants' because of their _physical height_ ," Sam added, as he twisted the sword deeper.

He closed his eyes against the force of the released energy. He was still trying to blink away the after image when he felt his son sink back into rest.

Sam stalked off to find his child's father.

~#~

Sam could have found the cells from the stench alone, let alone the agonized cries of those who been chained and tortured within. Dean sometime talked in his sleep and while it could be dangerous to disturb him mid-nightmare, Sam could never bear to idly sit by while his brother suffered - the words uttered were too dreadful to listen to as Dean narrated the details of his time in Hell. It appeared that Heaven was more than a match in terms of inflicting torment.

Sam unbolted each door and unshackled each of the many prisoners he found. He almost didn't recognize one particular broken figure, who was struggling to support himself without further tearing the ragged wings that were tied to the rack above him.

As he cut Gadreel down, horrified by the state of the angel, Sam considered that Metatron was most fortunate to already be dead.

"Can you ever forgive me?" gasped Gadreel.

Sam hadn't prayed for a long, long time, but he took a moment to give silent thanks. "I stormed the gates of Heaven for you, doesn't that tell you something?" he said, trying not to sob.

Gadreel lay his weary head to rest on Sam's stomach. He closed his eyes in bliss at the sound of two strong sets of heart beats.

"I love you, Sam," he declared, "I've loved you from the moment I first knew you. To have created a life with you is an honour and more than I deserve." He lovingly cradled the bump between his hands. "If you allow me to stay, I would do everything in my power to care for you and your child."

" _Ours_ ," declared Sam, laying a tender hand on the back of Gadreel's neck.

Gadreel couldn't hold back his tears. "It won't be easy..." he warned.

Sam snorted, "I'm a Winchester. We _only_ do complicated."

~#~

"I'd still be happy to kick his ass for you," said Dean as he and his brother took a well-earned rest and watched their angels release and heal the last of Heaven's prisoners. "Just say the word."

Sam leaned back in his chair and chuckled. "Yeah right, he'd kick _your_ ass."

"Okay," Dean scowled, realizing the validity without wanting to acknowledge it. "I'd get Cas to do it."

Sam raised one eyebrow, a smirk painted across his face as he pointed to where the angels were working together. "My angel's bigger than your angel," he said teasingly in a sing-song voice.

Dean rolled his eyes. "You're such a child sometimes. Besides, Cas is definitely more wiry."

Sam gasped. He grabbed Dean's hands and held them against his stomach.

Dean grinned. "I take it back. My niece or nephew is already kicking your ass."

"It's so weird," said Sam, lost in thought and the sensation of his child's movement.

"Good weird though, yeah?" asked Dean.

 _One day_ , thought Sam, _we'll manage to have a proper conversation without having to worry about all the damn subtext._

"It's good," agreed Sam. "And even better since Doctor Robert finally thought it might be noteworthy to mention that Nephilim babies _teleport_ out when ready."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "So, no..." he made a crude backwards-and-forwards gesture below the waist.

He sighed in relief at Sam's nod. "I'll have to tell Cas," he muttered. "What? He might want kids too, one day," he added defensively.

Sam decided there was no adequate response for that, so just sat back and enjoyed being surrounded by his family.

~#~

"So you and my brother, huh?" said Dean, sidling up to Gadreel the moment his brother and Castiel were out of sight.

The angel shifted uncomfortably, despite being well healed thanks to Sam's considerable care and attention. "Yes, but I can assure you that it was not my intention-"

"So what _are_ your intentions?" Dean interrupted.

"I certainly never meant-"

"Oh, I see. You think you're too good for him?" growled Dean.

Gadreel feeling increasingly flustered, stuttered out an answer. "N-no, not at all."

"You betcha, _feathers_. You need to be thinking about the future and making an honest man of Sam."

Gadreel gulped. He'd faced the Serpent, the wrath of God, and the machinations of Metatron, but something told him that his future brother-in-law would prove to be the true challenge.

(;,;)


End file.
